I barely set foot in the old barn these days, but today I wanted to try out some ideas with texture, and the old barn has it in spades. It's on unsure ground ... a joist has given way and the entire outer hull at one end is on the verge of heading East. Poetic.

A family of House Martins is nesting in the eaves (as they do every year) and the windows rattle as the wind rushes through. Somewhere near the middle, lay 7 used aerosols and a handful of discarded bits of vinyl, for it was here that RVMPD3 took shape. Down at the far end, there are bales of hay stacked roughly, whilst on the other side lies a perfect replica of the original Burning Man DISTRIKT stage (2010-2014). Piece by piece it gathers dust. Poetic.

I set up the camera and take some shots, touching nothing, shooting as is. The paisley carpet and signage from Force Fields (the self-build festival I hosted 2 years back) lie in one corner, whilst the 'bar area' lies in the other, fridge unplugged & lifeless. This place holds a thousand memories in its loose, careworn gaze.